


Fourty

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-08
Updated: 2003-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: It's Brian's 40th birthday and he has some regrets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Let's face it; even the best of us don't deal with turning forty with as much calm as we use to conduct our everyday lives. But for you, the act is equivalent to having a stake driven through your heart and then coming back to relive it again and again.

Because to you, turning forty denotes something very different from what your present life suggests. Forty-year-old men do not go to clubs to pick up men. Men at these clubs are not interested in forty-year-old men anyway. Let's be real for a moment, most thirty something men begin their descent from the clubs with a humbleness that has never been known to you. Instead, your thirties continued on where your twenties left off - never caring where the future would bring you. You fucked away everything, quite literally. But people have started reacting to you differently now in the backroom of good old Babylon. You're going out of fashion. The music is becoming foreign to you. Your body just can't seem to keep up with these kids, many of whom are making their first tentative steps into this life. You've been here forever. Do you really want to die here? Isn't there anything else? When do they stop loving you and start mocking you? News flash: They already have.

Forty-year-old men have responsibilities greater than any that you've even imagined. For you, turning forty is trading in recreational drugs for prescription ones. Yet another reminder that your body is slowing down and will eventually stop. And then you will be dead. No, turning forty will not be met with a celebration of any sort, not on your life.

You turn forty tomorrow.

Many of your friends have gone through the unspeakable act before you. They did it not with great joy, mind, but with relative ease. They already have stable lives, though. They were set before forty approached, they were set when it reared its ugly head, and they'll be set when they're fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, or, God help them, ninety. But you, you're different. When you really think about it, you have great material wealth - a beautiful home, an expensive car, designer everything. But what you don't have are emotions. Oh hell, let's be honest here, you feel just as much as the next person. You're not immune to sentiment. You just never knew how to express it, did you? You never even tried. And look where that got you? Alone at forty.

Of course, there's always the one that got away. You pictured yourself telling that story to your grandchildren one day. The one that got away. It will make for a good one. A tear jerker. But will they care? You barely see your one and only son as it is. Will his children even care to be a part of your life? Oh never mind, you'll tell the story to someone. It's a good one. The only thing better would be to be able to tell the story about how you got him back. But that won't happen now, will it? Not in this lifetime. It'll be a miracle if he even remembers that tomorrow's the dreaded day. The day you turn forty. You could always tell him. Yeah, tell him. get good and drunk enough and tell him.

The only problem is, you don't know where he is. You know he still lives relatively close to you because some of your friends still talk to him. He can't be that far. But fucked if you know what his phone number is. You haven't said so much as 'hello' to him in seven years. Not since he told you that your life now bored him, that he needed something stable, needed someone who wouldn't bring home random men night after night. Not since he picked up all of his things and left. Not since then. But hey, that's why they created the phone book, right? So you could call your ex-lovers on the eve of your fortieth birthday and tell them your regrets. Perhaps beg them to forgive you?

You take your time fixing a few drinks. Then you get the phone book out. It's easy enough to find him. You're not drunk enough that you can't spell. You see his name there clear as day. Amongst the other 'Taylor's' it jumps out at you. Taylor, J. My, but he must feel mature and responsible to be listed in there on his own. You look at the address beside the name. Why had you never thought to do that before? He's across town. He's across town and you're about to turn forty. Without thought, the phone is in your hands and you're dialling the number that appears beside "Taylor, J." On the fourth ring, a man answers. Not the little boy who left you, but a real man.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

Silence.

You speak again. "I'm forty tomorrow."

"B...Brian?"

So, he hasn't forgotten you after all these years.

"In..." You pause to count. "Three minutes, I'll be forty years old."

"What...what do you want?"

"Nothing. To shoot the shit. Thought I might talk to you before I turned forty."

"You're drunk."

"You're observant."

"I don't have time for this."

"That's right. Cherish every moment before you turn forty."

"I can't believe this. I haven't spoken to you in how many years? What the hell do you want now?"

"Maybe I was wrong."

You hear him sigh angrily. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"Don't call here anymore."

And before you can say anything, he hangs up the phone. The one that got away. A few moments later the clock reads twelve o'clock. Happy birthday.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you awaken the next day, you feel slightly hung over. Nothing new there. You rub your eyes and a hand through your hair. Everything seems fine. But then you remember, you're forty. Things have to change now.

And you remember that you called him last night. You wonder if you should contact him again to apologize or if it would be better to just leave things as they are - with him still thinking that you're just this big drunk loser that will never change. It's the truth, isn't it? Maybe. But maybe not.

Maybe he doesn't have to be 'the one that got away'. Maybe if you called to explain and you got to talking, the story you'd be telling those grandchildren or whoever would be much different. Maybe it would be one about how he almost got away. About a fortieth birthday that changed everything and brought him back to you. 

Or maybe you just need to take a shower and shake out all of these fucked up thoughts.

You do just that. 

It's Saturday. You have nothing amazing planned to do. Your friends, as such, have been warned to stay away from you on this morbid day. You wonder if they'll listen. Part of you will be depressed if they don't - who needs to be reminded they're forty? And the other part of you will be depressed if they do - maybe they just don't care. And why should they? You've never given them anything but grief anyway. You're like the little boy who cried wolf in reverse. You cry and cry about wanting to be left alone and no one takes you seriously. Then one day they do and you find out that you really are alone. That's enough to kill a man. Same as any old wolf would.

After the shower full of these thoughts, you're more depressed than ever. Forty is such a high number. You can remember when your son couldn't even count that high. It wasn't that long ago, was it? It doesn't seem like it. But maybe it was. You've lost track of time. Probably purposely. Probably so you wouldn't have to see at what rate your life is pissing away.

The phone book is next to the phone, still open to the page that says, "Taylor, J.". You go to close it but something stops you. You want to change the story. You want the story to be about the one who almost got away.

But you can't call him. You feel paralyzed. The phone is so impersonal anyway, and you're ready to make a big change. A big personal change.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know where he works. One of your friends slipped it out in passing conversation one day. You didn't say anything about it. But you took notice. Not that you had thought of doing anything about it at that time, but still, you took notice. Good thing too, because you find yourself wondering if he's working on this Saturday.

He co-owns a small gallery that showcases his work and other local artists. He also teaches a couple of small art classes there. Probably to housewives and old women. People that would drive you insane with their blather. But he wouldn't mind, he likes everyone. 

You remember the name of the gallery. Starry Eyed Artists. Cute. So him. You don't know where it is though so you go back to the trusty phone book. Sure enough the listing is there. It's not too far from where you've recently discovered he lives. 

You get in your car.

It's raining outside and you feel that's appropriate for this horror of all days. Even the gods are laughing at you. Serves you right.

When you get there, you marvel at how quaint the place is from the outside. Not at all how you would design a place, but then, you're not him.

When you get inside you see a younger man behind a desk. He smiles at you.

"Horrible day out there, huh?" He remarks at the rain.

"You don't know the half of it." You reply.

"Can I help you with anything?"

Yeah, you think. Turn back the clock. You want him to make you twenty again. You'll change this time, right? Things will be different.

"Is...is Justin in?" It's been so long since you've said that name.

"Umm...not right now. He was here this morning but he stepped out for a bit. Sorry, but he didn't say exactly when he'd be back."

But he doesn't have to be sorry because just as he's finishing his sentence, you hear the door jingle behind you.

"Oh, you're in luck. Here he is."

But you can't turn around. You don't want him to see your forty-year-old face.

"Justin, there's someone here to see you." The younger man says.

You hear his footsteps come closer towards you. They slow down as they get closer. Suddenly, he's face to face with you. The years have been good to him. He doesn't look amused.

"Hello, Brian."

You smile sheepishly.

"Glen, can you handle things out here for a bit? There's a conversation that I have to have in the back with Brian."

"Sure." Glen says.

Justin turns around and opens a door. He doesn't say anything to you about following him, but you do anyway.

The room you walk into must be where they teach the classes. There are a few tables and chairs and various pieces of art around the place.

He sits on a table and folds his arms, waiting for you.

"Nice place you've got here."

"What do you want?"

"I always knew you'd be successful."

"What do you want?"

"I mean, you even have a little employee out there, great huh?"

"Brian, what do you want?"

You sit down in one of the chairs and suddenly you're looking up at him like a lost puppy dog.

"I'm forty, Justin."

"Happy birthday." He says without emotion.

"I'm being serious here." You say.

He scoffs. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing." He waits. "I'm just here to say...I'm sorry."

"You're sorry." A statement, not really a question.

"Yes. For everything in the past. I never meant to hurt you."

"Is this some sort of twelve step program? Are you at the part where you apologize for past offenses?"

"No."

"Then I don't have to be nice to you? Good. Get over yourself, Brian. Do you think I'm still hung up over you?"

Your mouth gapes slightly. "No. No, of course not. Why would you be?"

He says nothing and that hurts most of all.

"Brian." His voice softens only slightly. "Why are you here? Why did you call me last night? What is this all about?"

"I want you back." There. You've said it. You're changing the story.

He shakes his head. "You are unbelievable."

"I'm...I am not."

"You are. Do you think this is how life works? Do you think that we're going to pick up where we left off...what...seven years ago?"

"No...I..."

"You don't even know me anymore."

"Then let me."

"You're fucked, Brian." Silence. "I have a good life now."

"I know that. But...it could be better."

He puts his face in his hands. He's almost stifling a laugh. Can you blame him?

"Do you know what you're asking me? If some stranger came up to you on the street and asked you to spend your life with him, would you do it?"

"No."

"Then how can you expect me to?"

"I'm not a stranger."

"Yes. You are." Correction - that hurts most of all. "Brian, you know what this is, don't you? This is some mid-life crisis thing you've got going on. Just go home and forget about it. Forget about me."

"That easily, huh?"

"Well, you obviously haven't thought much about me in the past seven years. Do whatever you were doing then again."

There's a tentative knock at the door and then Glen appears.

"Sorry...Justin there was a call from Chris. He said his sister had her baby today. A girl. They named her Samantha. He said he'll see you tonight."

There's a smile that spreads across Justin's face. Frankly, it makes you sick to your stomach.

"Thanks, Glen." Glen leaves again and Justin looks at you.

"Chris?"

"I don't owe you any explanations, Brian. You are not a part of my life anymore."

You nod and stand to leave. "Sorry I came here."

He says nothing. You open the door.

"Brian? I wish you the best. Really, I do. The best just doesn't include me, trust me on that one."

You leave.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There's a small dinner to 'celebrate' your birthday. You don't tell anyone about your little freak out today. What did he call it? A mid life crisis. Jesus. You look around the table and notice that everyone is paired off except for you. It's enough to make you want to kill yourself.

You last the evening and then decide it would be best if you went home and wallowed in your misery.

Home. Home is cold and dark and empty. You turn the TV on but can't find anything to watch. There's nothing to do except stare out the window into the rain. Into oblivion. Whatever.

Sleep finally comes after you make two birthday wishes.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you awaken, the wishes have not come true. You're still forty and you're still alone.

Sundays have always meant supreme boredom to you and this one is no different. The phone book still sits by the phone open to the page of the gallery. You didn't change the story. But maybe that's okay.

Compelled by some unknown force, you flip back to the page that says, "Taylor, J." and pick up the phone. A groggy Justin answers.

"Hello?"

"Don't hang up."

A sigh. "Brian. Stop doing this. Stop it right now."

"Meet me for coffee."

"No."

"Please."

"You can't do this. Stop doing this to me. Stop doing this to yourself."

"I need to see you."

"No. No you don't. You need to forget about me. You need to live your own life."

"Justin, just do this one thing for me."

"I'm sick of doing things for you."

"I know. I know. But this is it. Just meet me for coffee and I swear to God that I will never contact you again."

"You're not a religious man."

"How do you know? I'm a stranger to you, remember?"

A very very small laugh. The best sign you've received from him in seven years.

"This can't happen."

"What? Coffee? People drink coffee everyday, Justin."

"Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor do not drink coffee together everyday. They don't drink coffee together ever. There's a reason for that."

"Break the rules. Just once. I promise you. Just one cup of coffee and then nothing. I'll erase you from my memory."

"Memories are fine, Brian. You can keep your memories. I keep them. I wouldn't trade them for anything. Just don't bank on a future."

"We don't have to go somewhere near here. If you're afraid of being seen with me."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore."

"You never were."

"I was. I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"You pick the place, Justin. Please."

He sighs and contemplates. You cross both sets of fingers.

"Fine. But I swear to you Brian, this is it."

"I know. I know it is."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're early for your little meeting. After all, you want to make a good impression. It's still raining and when he comes in, he shivers slightly at the cold damp wetness that has fallen on his perfect form. He spots you and comes over.

You're in a little diner. The kind that you thought only existed in the movies. He sits down across from you in the booth you've chosen. Your cup of coffee is half empty already. The waitress notices his arrival and comes to ask what he'd like.

He orders just a plain cup of black coffee. You ask for a refill. When she leaves, you speak.

"Crappy weather we're having lately, huh?" He nods his head. "But you always liked the rain, didn't you? You said that your creativity came out best when it was raining."

"Don't. Don't do this. Don't try and relate to me, Brian."

The waitress comes back with a cup of coffee for Justin and refills yours. Then she's gone again.

"Justin, I'm sorry I did what I did yesterday."

He shakes his head. "It's...don't...don't worry about it."

You nod. "Thanks."

"Why did you want to see me?"

"Closure."

"Bri...it's been seven years."

"I know. But I've been living in a bubble."

A small scoff. "So what's changed?"

"I'm forty."

"How many times do I have to hear that?"

"I want to know what I'm missing."

"What do you mean?"

"I want a real life. I want a partner. A family."

"I can't give you that."

"I know. I know that. That's not why I asked you here."

"Then what do you want from me."

"Help me. Help me close the Justin chapter of me life."

"...Okay."

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

"But you resent me?"

"I did. I don't think too much about it now."

You almost feel tears come to your eyes.

"I see."

"Don't be upset about it, Brian. I don't mean that in some cruel horrible way, you know."

"I know."

"I still love you, Brian."

You raise your eyebrows. "You do?"

He nods. "You've still got a place in my heart. You just don't own it anymore."

You laugh slightly. "That's...nice of you. To say that. To try and make me feel better."

"I mean it." You look down. "I do. Brian, despite everything...you're still my first...everything. You taught me a lot about who I want to be...and who I don't want to be." You scoff. "I'm eternally grateful to you, Brian. You'll always be the man who saved my life. You'll always be my first love. You just won't be the last one."

"Chris?"

"The guy I'm seeing."

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

"I won't ask you anything else about that."

"Thank you."

You're quiet for a moment. He looks out the window.

"Brian?" He says still looking at the rain.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about yourself."

You look at him.

"Same old."

"I don't believe that."

"What do you want to know?"

"What do you want to tell me? You're the one that made me come here. Entertain me."

"I...you know everything about me, Justin. I haven't changed."

"Just...tell me."

You sigh. This seems pointless to you. "I'm...a partner at an advertising agency. I'm not boasting, but we're rather successful. I'm good at what I do. I own a loft that I live in. A good investment, I'm told. I've fixed the place up pretty well. If I ever want to sell it, I'm likely to get a good price for the place. I...have a son. Gus. He's ten. I just turned forty..." You trail off. What else can you say?

"Are you happy?"

"No."

"Then you have to get happy."

"It's not that easy."

"Yes. It is."

"You did it."

"Exactly."

"I'm not you."

"You're a strong man Brian, on the outside. But on the inside you're scared." You don't say anything. "You're afraid of change because you're afraid of what people will think of you if you do it."

Now it's your turn to look out the window. "It's not as easy as you make it out to be."

"Don't shut yourself off from the world. Just don't."

"It's not that easy."

"You're fucking stubborn."

"I know."

"Make an effort. Just promise me you'll make an effort."

"I promise."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Because you're not a...bad person. You're just...lost."

"I'm a fucking failure of a man. I'm forty fucking years old and a twenty-eight year old has to tell me I'm lost."

"Don't fucking dwell on it. Just change it." You nod. "You're a fucking piece of work, Brian, likely to make a lot of people want to kill themselves, but you'll get through. I know you will."

Somehow, that's one of the nicest things that anyone's ever said to you.

"Justin?"

"What?"

"If I died tomorrow, would you come to my funeral?"

"Yes."

"Willingly?" 

"Yes."

"Would you hold any animosity towards me?"

He thinks about this for a moment.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Takes too much energy to hate someone."

"Oh."

"And I've forgiven you. Really, I have."

"Thank you."

"I've closed the Brian chapter. I've moved on from all of that."

"I envy your ability to do that."

"You'll do it too."

"I'm glad you have some sort of faith in me."

"You should too, Brian. You can't let people in if you don't believe in yourself." You nod. "Would you?"

"Huh?"

"Come to my funeral?"

"Of course."

"Any animosity?"

"None what so ever."

"Is the Justin chapter closed?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Thanks for meeting me, Jus." You tell him after a moment.

He shakes his head. "No. Don't worry about it. Just...just no more late night calls. No more surprise visits. Okay?"

"No. You have your own life now. I can respect that."

"And you have yours. It's yours to make it into whatever you want it to be."

You pay the bill and walk him to his car.

"Take care of yourself, Brian."

"I will. You too."

"I already am."

You smile. "You'll always be my first too. My first love."

"But not your last?"

"Hopefully not."

"I won't be. There's no way that could happen."

"Thank you, Justin. For saving my life."

He smiles slyly and gets into his car. You watch him drive away.

You think to yourself that it will probably be the last time you ever see his face.


	2. Fourty

You're not really sure, but you think you're a liar. You told him that you closed the chapter on Justin, but somehow, you think it's still open.

You're sitting in a restaurant more than six months after your fortieth birthday having dinner with a wonderful man.

In the past six months you've done more changing - more growing - than you've done in your entire life. You've become what you like to think of as the Über-Brian. All who know you have been shocked first into disbelief, then scared silence, and now, finally rejoice at the man you have become. A dignified, respectable, caring human being. That's not to say that you've become a huge bore in the process, however. As Melanie likes to say, "He's the same old Brian, he's just rented out a conscience." Even you had to laugh at that one, because, well, it's true. You rented out a conscience, bought a clue, whatever. You bought exactly what Justin was selling you that day at the diner.

So in that respect, you can tell yourself that you are not a liar. Indeed, in that respect, you've been true to your word. You've changed for yourself and ultimately been able to let others in.

The problem lies in the fact that you're having dinner with the most incredible man whom you've been seeing for almost five months now, and all you can find yourself thinking is that he's not Justin. You're the liar of all liars. The Justin chapter is not closed and all you can do is keep living your life hoping that one day, magically, you'll wake up to not see the book open to Justin any longer.

The day that you got back to the loft from coffee with Justin, you found that you had a voice mail message from him waiting for you.

"Brian, when I said no late night calls and no surprise visits, I didn't mean to be so harsh. I want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever need me, just like I know you'd be there for me."

And he was right. Still, that was the last time you heard his voice. You saved the message though, for those times when you need instant reassurance that someone, no, not someone, that Justin cares.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You get home from dinner and the wonderful, incredible man - Scott - comes with you. You invited him back and he accepted, still he seems a bit uneasy.

You close the door and make your way to the kitchen.

"You want anything? A drink?" You ask him.

"Sure...what's up, Brian? Are you okay tonight?"

"Of course."

"You seemed a bit...off in your own world at dinner."

"Yeah...just a bit spacey today."

The two of you sit and talk over your drinks. You know that you're going to have to end this relationship. Things just aren't working out. But it's hard. It's hard now that you've rented out this conscience. You just can't love 'em and leave 'em anymore. You actually do not want to hurt him. You think he's a great guy. You're sure of it. He's just not what you want, what you need.

You sigh. "Scott," You go through the possible clichéd rejections but dismiss them all. "I'm going to be honest with you. I like you a lot. But I don't see this relationship progressing any further than it has."

Scott's eyebrows rise in a manner that reflects the way yours often do. Then he nods, "Well then...thanks for the honesty, I guess. Can I ask what the problem is?"

You don't know what to tell him but you refuse to say, 'It's not you, it's me'.

Instead you tell him, "You and I are just not right together. It's not something that happened between us or that didn't happen between us. I can just...feel it. We're not meant to be." He nods again. "I'm sorry. I'm new to this whole 'relationship' thing."

"You're forty years old."

"I know. And I'm new at this. Is that the kind of man you want to be with?"

He laughs. So this will be somewhat positive, thank God.

After he leaves, you play the old message on the machine. You need it now. You'll probably always need it.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning you when you wake up, you want to shoot yourself square in the head. It was so obvious, how could you have missed it? And now you've gone and screwed things up with Scott. What an asshole you've been, but then again, you already knew that, didn't you? Still, maybe there's time to fix it. But first things first, you know what you have to do. Close the Justin chapter once and for all. You delete the answering machine message that seems so old to you now, that it very well could be prehistoric. It's enough to know that Justin would be there for you if you needed him; you don't need to hold on to him saying it as well.

There. Case closed.

You shower and get ready. You call into work and say that you'll be late if you get there at all today. You head straight to Scott's.

He's a physical anthropologist and God love him but you have no idea in hell how he can stand to work with those stinky, dirty animals. Still, it's what he loves, right? To each his own and all that. Anyway, point is, he's been working on this essay for the past little while about some field work he did in some African jungle of sorts. So not in your world, you can't even imagine it. Whatever. You know he'll be home when you get to his place.

Scott and you met at a charity banquet. It was some conservation thing. Animals, trees, whatever. You didn't care at the time. You were there canvassing for potential clients. You found Scott instead. If you were a religious man, you might say that the heavens opened up when you saw him. But forget that. The point is that he drew you in. and he's perfect. And you've gone and ruined everything over a stupid answering machine message.

He opens the door and smiles. "Brian, come in."

"I was wrong. I made a mistake." You say brushing past him.

He leans against the door smirking in amusement. "Oh? Go on."

"I...I panicked. You see, I really am new at this and it scared me that I felt, that I feel, so much for you. It's never really happened before."

"Never?" He asks.

You can't lie. It's happened exactly once before, only you screwed things up there too.

"Well, maybe once. But I was even more of a ridiculous human being then than I am now."

Scott laughs and walks over to you pulling you close. You feel a wave of relief rush over you.

"I know you better than you think, Brian." He starts. "I knew you just needed the night to sleep on it. I knew I'd see you today." He tells you.

"That's a little...confident. Wouldn't you say?"

He shakes his head. "Uh-uh. Not confident. Just a little more experienced than you maybe."

You don't end up going to work that day. You spend most of it with Scott and then on your way back home you have to pull over to wonder when the hell your life got so complicated.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A lot of the time, evenings out with Scott mean charity events. Charity concerts, charity dinners, charity dances, charity theatre, charity sports events. Anything that can be named, you've seen charity-ized. For animals you didn't even know existed, for rainforests in countries you couldn't even point out on a map, for hospitals, to fund research. You'd been to more charity events than you had the backroom of Babylon in your youth. And if that isn't saying a lot, you don't know what is.

That's why you find yourself at a charity event on your forty first birthday. That's right - forty-one. You can hardly believe it yourself. Funny, but you no longer feel all that scared about getting older. Scott promised that he'd make up the fact that you have to schmooze with people you don't know on your birthday and you fully intend to hold him to that.

Tonight's even is for one of Scott's peers - Mark Adler. He's a professor and anthropologist who is raising money to fund some excursion to god-knows-where in Africa to yet another forest. The way you see it, they talk about different forests so much, you can't believe that we're running out of them. He and his team plan to research some animal you've never heard of before. Some sort of monkey, or chimpanzee or whatever. Is there even a difference? There isn't one to you at least. 

The theme of this night is art. Every rich bastard in Pittsburgh and surrounding area is on hand to purchase pieces from local artists - all of the proceeds going to this monkey thing. You can think of a lot of things you'd rather be doing than talking to these pretentious people about the art they've just bought which neither of you know anything about. But you're sure it will look excellent over their fireplaces.

You finally get away and head over to the bar for a drink. As you approach it, you notice a familiar local artist.

"Buy you a drink?" You ask as you come up beside him.

He turns to face you. "Brian!" He exclaims.

You exchange what could pass for a hug. God, he really does look as beautiful as ever.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"Me? I donated some art to sell...what are you doing here?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

"I donated my precious time." Justin raises his eyebrows at you and laughs. "I'm...with someone." You point out Scott in the crowd of schmoozers.

Justin nods and smiles. "What's his name?"

"Scott Bartlett. He's a physical anthropologist. That's why we're here. We've been together for a while now. Almost a year."

Justin's mouth opens slightly in shock. "Wow. Congratulations. I'm really happy for you, Bri."

You order a drink for yourself and one for Justin. "You still with..."

"Chris. Yeah. He's not here though. He's out of town."

"Oh." You say.

All of a sudden, Justin's eyes go wide. "Happy Birthday!" He exclaims and you laugh. "Glad to see you survived the past year."

"Thanks to you." You tell him just as Scott comes over to the two of you.

"Trying to sneak away?" He asks you jokingly.

"Who me?" You say. The three of you laugh. "Scott, this is Justin Taylor. Justin, this is Scott Bartlett." They shake hands. "Justin's an artist. He's got some pieces here tonight."

"Oh! Wonderful! Thank you so much for the support."

"Not a problem." Justin tells him. "So, Brian says you're an anthropologist. Are you going on this excursion?" He asks Scott.

"Oh no, not me. At least, not this time."

"It sounds so interesting." Justin says.

"Oh, it is. It's so amazing to be able to immerse yourself in this world that is not you own. It's such a great compliment for these creatures to accept you being there." Scott tells him.

"Oh, I'm sure. Now, Bonobos, right? That's a sort of like a chimpanzee?"

"Why yes, they are." Scott says turning to smirk at you. "Brian here said that no one in hell would know what a Bonobo is." 

The two of them laugh at you while you smirk back at them. Figures. Justin would know the classification of fucking Chimpanzees.

"Well, you two probably have some important people to talk to. I don't want to take up your time. I should get back to my pieces anyway." Justin tells you. He holds out his hand to Scott who takes it. "Good luck with all of your research." Justin tells him.

"Oh, thank you. And thank you again for your donation. It was very nice to meet you." Scott tells him. "Uh, Brian, I'll leave you two to say goodbye. I'll just be over by Mark. I have to tell him something. Scott leaves and it's just you and Justin again.

"He seems great, Brian."

"He is. Thanks."

"It was really nice to see you."

"You too, Jus."

"Happy Birthday, again."

"Oh, thanks." You say with a laugh.

You two hug again and exchange a small kiss on the cheek while you fight to keep the Justin chapter closed.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the night is boring mixed with more boring. Finally it's time to leave.

"So, how are you going to make this up to me?" You ask Scott as you walk to your car.

He grins. "How about we get back to your place first, my little impatient one." He gets in the car. 

You see Justin walking down the sidewalk and decide to say goodbye to him again.

"I'll be back in a minute." You tell Scott as you head down the sidewalk towards Justin. "Hey, Jus! Wait up!"

"Oh, Brian."

"Just wanted to say goodbye again."

Justin smiles. "I'm really happy that...well, you know, you're happy."

"Thanks. And thank you really, for making me realize that I can be happy."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for."

"Too bad I'm too late, huh?" Oh God, you don't know how that came out.

"Brian..."

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that." Didn't you? "I was just saying. You know, 'what if?' and all that. Forget it."

"It's never worth it to say 'what if?' Because there is no 'what if?'. It didn't happen. We...I guess it wasn't meant to be."

That strikes your heart unpleasantly for some reason, but you figure he must be right.

"Hey Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself."

"You too, Brian. Now that you know how."

And that's it. You wonder if this will be the last time you see his face.


	3. Fourty

Almost seven months later and you can't believe that you ever thought you could spend your life with this man. Scott. Lately every single thing that he does, all the way down to the way he puts his socks on, annoys the fuck out of you.

He's virtually moved into the loft. Well, at least he spends enough time there. There haven't been any formalities about the living conditions, but as far as you're concerned, when someone has a toothbrush at your place and nothing has been talked about, things are getting out of hand.

You can't really say how it started - your extreme dislike of being with him - but you know that it's all you can think about lately. You've tried your best to push it out of your mind. You've tried to tell yourself that you're just being a stupid scared shit. That you can't begin to fathom how you've been able to be with this man for over a year and a half so you're just trying to run from it. You've tried to remind yourself that you have been renting this conscience out for just as long a time and that this is not the way that people who have acquired consciences should act. 

You've talked to people around you. Confided in them about your situation, hoping that they would slap some fucking sense into you, but you've found just the opposite. They're been understanding and you would give anything for the days when they would trip all over each other to be the first to tell you you're wrong. Instead, you find people who are telling you to be true to yourself and trust your own instincts. You find people who say that you're now mature enough to make wise decisions - surprise, surprise. And that you should do so based on the way you feel. They say you're only hurting yourself by not doing what you think is right and that it's not fair to you. Jesus. You think you want to run.

You finally get up enough courage to do so. You and Scott have been fighting about random things lately, so it's not surprising when you awaken to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, arms folded, with a wicked scowl.

"What's up? You ask through a yawn.

"What the hell is this? He holds up a photograph and throws it at you.

You see it while it's flying midair to your thigh, where it lands. You know the picture immediately. It's you and Justin. A really nice shot, by the way. An old one too. Justin had just got a new camera and he'd been taking a shit load of photos of anything and everything for at least a week. You were getting really tired of being the subject of black and white memories at the most inopportune of moments. But this, Justin promised, would be the last one. Apparently, his seemingly endless supply of film had actually come to an end. This was the last shot. At least until he bought some more. Justin made you promise to be good for this last photo and you were.

It was early on a Sunday morning, neither of you had showered or dressed yet. Justin had set the timer on the camera so you could both be in the shot. Both of you had sweetly dishevelled hair. You were dressed only in a white undershirt and pants. Justin wore a t-shirt and boxers. In the photo, you're both sitting on the couch. Justin is kissing your shoulder and you've turned so that you're looking at him with loving eyes. Such a beautiful, simple photo that you've never been able to part with.

"That's uh...that's me and Justin." You tell Scott taking hold of the photo and placing it on your bedside table.

Scott nods. "Right, that's you and Justin. Who the hell is Justin?"

"Justin...he's an old...relax, this picture was taken ages ago."

"That's not the point, Brian. Why do you still have it?"

"Actually, what I want to know is where you found it?" You say defensively.

"In the drawer over there. I was looking for scissors."

"You were looking for scissors in my dresser drawer?"

Scott sighs. "Don't try and change the subject, Brian!" He exclaims. Then suddenly his face changes to one of recognition. "Oh wait, Justin. I remember him. That guy at Mark's function? The artist?"

You sigh and get up, pulling a pair of pants on. "What the hell does it matter?"

"You didn't tell me that you had been seeing him."

"It was ages ago."

"But not long enough for you to get rid of the evidence?" He says walking over to you so he can look you in the eye.

"Listen, Scott. I don't know what you were doing, looking for scissors, whatever. But last time I checked, this was my place and what I have in here, is really no concern of yours."

Scott laughs. "No wonder you've never been able to keep a boyfriend."

"Go fuck yourself."

He ignores you. "So what? Are you still hung up about this Justin?"

You're in the middle of putting a shirt on, but this question stops you dead in your tracks. That chapter is closed...isn't it?

"Well?" Scott prods.

Well, now's as good a time as any to tell him the way you're feeling. To be true to yourself. To trust your instincts.

"Yeah. Maybe I am."

"What?" He yells.

"Listen, you know as well as I do that you and I are not meant to be."

"Oh, do I?"

"Scott, don't be like this. We've been fighting over everything lately. Yesterday you blew up at me because I left a fucking toothpaste glob in the sink."

"Oh please, you're just as fucking picky."

"Point is, it's my sink. Not yours, mine."

"So now all of a sudden you don't want me around this place? Is that it?" 

"I...no. I don't. We're not on the same level. Can't you see that? Look, I'm not trying to be cruel, but this isn't meant to be. We're not that compatible. Otherwise, I wouldn't be feeling this way, right?"

"Well, it looked like you were pretty comfortable having this Justin around." He says pettily.

"Yeah. I was. Things with Justin were different."

"Well, thank you very much, Brian."

You sigh. "I didn't mean that to sound..."

"No, no. Don't apologize; it's quite clear that you kept this photo around for a reason. To remind you that there is something better out there. Let's just hope he feels the same way, huh? I'd hate to see you fall on your ass." Scott says dripping with horrific sarcasm. "I'll just gather my things and be gone." You say nothing.

Scott does as he said and gets his stuff together. "Sorry I wasted your time, Brian," He mocks as he's leaving. "But I'm even sorrier that I wasted mine."

And that's the last you're going to see of him. You should feel bad. He said some horrible things and you weren't exactly fair to him. Someone with a conscience would feel bad, wouldn't they? But you don't. You don't feel bad. You feel liberated.

You pick up the picture of you and Justin and fall down on the bed. Holding it above you, you silently berate yourself for the grief you gave him about taking these photos. They're all you have left now. All you have left to remind you that there is something better.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later it's Justin's birthday and no matter how hard you try, you just can't get yourself to stay away. He's all you've been thinking about since Scott left, and you don't know how to stop. 

You find yourself waiting outside his gallery at twenty after eight in the morning on his thirtieth birthday. No one is there yet and you figure you should just give up and head off to work - you're dressed for it. But something made you take a detour on the way to the agency, so you figure you owe it to yourself to stay and find out what it was.

You lean against the window and begin your wait. Fortunately for you, the wait isn't that long. For suddenly, about fifteen minutes later, Justin is beside you unlocking the place, coffee in hand.

"For what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Kinney?" He asks amused. You shrug your shoulders. "Well, come in." He says and you follow him inside. "You're lucky. I'm usually not in this early, but I have this piece that I'm working on in the back..." You nod your head. Justin sighs. "What? Are you mute?"

"Happy birthday."

"...Thanks. Did you come here to tell me that?" He asks, eyes narrowed.

"Don't know. So thirty, huh? That was a tough one for me."

"I remember."

"But my loving friends were all there to support me."

"My favourite part was the coffin."

"Hmmmm..."

"It was only because you made such a big deal about it. And you used to call me a drama queen."

"Yeah, I know. So what about you? How's thirty treating you?"

Justin shrugs. "Not bad. Same as twenty-nine, I guess. It's a bit odd, but I'm not about to kill myself over it." 

You nod. "Good...good."

"Bri...why are you here?"

"I don't know."

"I'll bet you do."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because you never do anything without a reason."

"I thought I was a stranger. I thought you didn't know me anymore."

He sighs again. Seems that's all you know how to make him do. "Give me a break here, Brian."

"So, what do you and Chris have planned for tonight?" You ask, breath held.

"Nothing. We're...not together anymore."

"Oh. Sorry."

He shakes his head. "Whatever. I've gotten over it. It's been a few months now."

"Right...I'm...not with Scott anymore..."

"Oh?"

"No."

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

"I miss you."

Another sigh. "Oh Brian, we've been through this before..."

"It's...it's different now...I'm different."

"We can't do this now. Okay? I'm...I'm very busy today and..."

"Just...just have dinner with me. Please?"

"No. No, I can't."

"Why? Why Jus? Why not?"

"Because I refuse to let myself fall into this again."

That hurts a bit. You try another tactic. "I found...I found that picture of us a little while ago. You know, the black and white one where you're...kissing my shoulder."

He nods. "I remember."

"I just got to thinking that...that that's what I want. That that's what I need."

Justin shakes his head. "No, Brian. That's not us anymore. That's a different Brian and a different Justin."

"So what? People change, we both have. But that doesn't mean we've lost the ability to be happy." You explain.

"That wasn't...happiness. It was an illusion..."

You feel tears spring to your eyes out of nowhere at that comment. And for the first time, you don't really care.

"I...didn't know you felt that way."

"Oh, Bri...I didn't really mean that. I didn't mean that I wasn't happy. I was. I was happy for the time. I was happy up until I couldn't take it anymore. We had amazing times, Brian. That was one of them...but in the end...they couldn't outweigh my internal feelings."

"So you internally felt unhappy."

"No. Well...don't get me wrong, Brian. I felt...wanted in some ways. But I just...I didn't exactly feel needed. Can you understand that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I can understand that. And I've apologized..."

"And I've forgiven you. And we've moved on. Or at least, I thought we had..."

"Well...maybe we haven't."

"Maybe you haven't."

"Maybe I think we deserve another try."

"Maybe you're wrong."

"Okay. Okay. Can you just...that's about enough rejection for me for one day. But can you...can you just promise me that you'll think about having dinner with me?"

Justin sighs. "Brian..."

"Just think about it."

"Fine. Fine. I'll think about it."

"I guess you're busy tonight."

"Not really."

"It's your birthday though."

"Yeah, but I'm thirty. Didn't feel too much like celebrating." Justin smirks and you smirk back.

"Thought you were fine with it."

"I am...sort of."

"It's not as bad as forty."

"So I hear."

"Okay...so then, think about having dinner with me tonight?" please?"

"Fine."

"When are you getting out of here?"

"I teach a class until eight."

"Then I'll be back, okay? To find out what you've been thinking."

Yet another sigh. "All right."

You leave and go to work.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's nearing eight and you show up at the gallery. The guy you remember to be Glen is behind the counter. You check your watch. Seven forty five.

"Can I help you?" Glen asks.

"Uh...just waiting for Justin. I'm kind of early."

Justin's head pops out the door.

"Thought I heard you. Why don't you come in?" Justin swings the door open further so you can enter.

You enter a class full of about ten middle-aged women all painting.

"Uh...maybe I should wait outside?" You whisper to Justin.

He shakes his head. "Nah. Don't worry. Sit down."

"Okay." You're feeling a bit uncomfortable but you sit on a stool at the front of the room.

"Um, guys, this is Brian Kinney." Justin announces to the class and you're not exactly sure why. There are some muddled hellos. "He's my ex." You whip your head around to look as Justin who has a pleased look upon his face. Now you're getting some interest from the women. Smirks and the like.

"Justin..." You say.

He ignores you. "I've seen him for a total of about four times since we broke up a good, seven or eight years ago. But now all of a sudden he's here wanting to take me out to dinner."

You can't believe what you're hearing. Holy shit. Now Justin's got the full attention of the women around him. They obviously know him pretty well and are commenting to each other.

"Justin..." You protest.

"Why'd you break up?" One of the women asks.

This is a scene out of a TV show, you're sure.

Justin glances your way. "Brian didn't know how to keep his pants on."

Now you're staring into a sea of condemning eyes and all you can hear are the tsk tsk's of women who are about ready to rip you apart even though you've never said a word to any of them.

"Now, now, ladies." Justin starts. "Brian says he's changed. He says he wants me back. All this time later and I find him on my doorstep practically begging me to come to dinner with him."

One of the women pipes up, "You should go, get a free meal and then never call him again." The rest of them laugh, as does Justin. You're mortified.

"There's a catch though...Brian's done a lot for me in the past and I just can't shut him out."

"So...just because he's done a lot for you in the past means he can sleep around?" Someone says. Agreement from the rest of the crowd.

"No. No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying...maybe I should give him a chance. Maybe I should at least go out to dinner with him."

"For the meal." The same woman again and more laughs.

You can't believe this is happening.

"Well, what does he have to say for himself?" One woman asks.

"I don't know. Bri?" Justin turns to face you and you feel everyone's eyes fall upon you.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Then, "I...just wanted to have dinner with you. I just wanted to know you again. I wanted to feel like I felt in that picture I found of us. I wanted to...never mind."

"No, go on." One of the women. You glare at her.

"This is messed up, Justin. Look, I'm sorry that I came here. I shouldn't have. I know that. I know that you and I are over and I know that maybe we never should have been. I just should have left you alone in the first place. But you know what? I didn't. I didn't leave you alone and no matter how much you seem to want to forget it, we had something together. And I can't get you out of my thoughts, even today, and that's saying a lot for me isn't it? Me, Brian Kinney, who isn't supposed to care for anything but himself.

Well, that may have been. Maybe it was the case. I'm not going to argue about the past anymore. I'm not going to dwell on what I should have done, because it's going to kill me. There are so many things I should have done differently. You're...you're the one who told me not to ask 'what if?' So I'm not going to. I'm not going to ask what if I did things differently. Because nothing exists outside the moment, Justin. And at this moment, I am sitting here in a room full of prying, disapproving eyes telling you that I've changed. I'm telling you about the present and what I hope the future can be like. I can't change the past. I'm regretful about it, yes, but I can't change it. I wish I could. I wish I could have woken up next to you for the past seven years, but I didn't. All I can tell you is that I hope to wake up next to you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I hope you're there when I'm fifty, when I'm sixty, when I'm seventy, and if I ever have to turn eighty, I want you beside me telling me I'm an idiot for worrying about it." You pause to breathe but find you can't start again.

"I'll go out to dinner with you, Brian." Justin half whispers.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Is your elegant reply.

Laugher throughout the room. This time, though, it's not so condemning. Justin points to the far door and you go into it. you splash water on your face and stare at yourself in the mirror for what feels like forever, trying to find the man that just said all of that in front of a roomful of strangers.

When you come back out, everyone's left but Justin.

"That was a lousy thing to do, Jus."

He nods. "I know."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner goes by well. You take Justin back to the gallery where his car is parked.

"So..."

"So Brian...you've changed. I can feel that now."

"Oh?"

"The Brian I used to know wouldn't have sat through what I put you through earlier tonight. And he definitely wouldn't have said the things that you did."

You nod. "So what does that mean for us?"

"It means...it means that we take things slow. It means that I'm going home and you're going home but that I'm not adverse to you calling me. I'm not adverse to going out to dinner with you anymore. I'm not adverse to trying to build something. It means that we still have a lot of things to talk about and a lot of things to figure out...but it means that I'm willing to do those things. It means that I think we're worth it."

You smile. "Thank you."

"It means that you can put that picture in a frame and hopefully soon when you're looking at it, you can think to yourself, 'gee, Brian. I really am that happy again.'"

"I know we will be."

"I have a feeling about this time, Brian. I have a feeling it just might work."

You pull Justin close and give him the slightest of kisses. He sighs, but this time it's a good one.

"So...why did you end things with Chris?" You ask him.

"He turned into the old Brian." Justin explains. "And you? Why did you end things with Scott?"

You look into Justin's eyes. "He didn't turn into you."


End file.
